The Sheikh's Hesitant Bride (Qazhar Sheikhs series Book 7) (8 page)

Stolen pleasures, Rachel thought with a grin.

At first, Rachel had been taken aback by Zarif's brazen pretense, but she had soon found the prospect of spending more time with him an irresistible temptation.
 
She'd almost felt guilty at pretending to be working, when she had been, in fact, out and about in London. It was almost like sharing a vacation with a secret boyfriend.

On some of the days, Zarif had returned Rachel to the office and taken Abby out for lunch. That particular pretense hadn't stopped, and Zarif had gone out of his way to make it clear to Rachel that the time he spent with Abby was nothing more than a professional obligation. Nothing more.

Now, why had he even done that? Why had he felt the need to reassure Rachel that his relationship with Abby amounted to nothing, that it would never be anything more than business?

Rachel glanced up at the numbers indicating her ascent. She would be there soon. It felt as if she was rising up to the lair of a secret lover, a prince hidden in his lofty tower awaiting the arrival of his princess.

Rachel sighed and felt the butterflies tumble into frantic activity in her middle. Why was she so nervous? There was nothing to worry about. These last two weeks, Zarif had conducted himself like the perfect gentleman. There had been no repeat performance of the events in the limo. Rachel wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed about that. Zarif hadn't even tried to kiss Rachel. Not even once.

Now that had disappointed her, she realized.
 

The lift slowed, and the doors opened. Rachel stepped out into the corridor, feeling the thick carpet beneath her low heeled shoes. She paused, waiting for the lift doors to close. She walked slowly down the corridor toward the door at the far end. The door to his apartment. She paused at the door and listened. There was no sound from inside. The only thing she could hear was the thudding of her heart, the slight roaring of her pulse in her ears. Her throat felt tight. She sighed and pressed the button by the side of the door.

****

The doorbell rang and Zarif leaped up from the sofa. Rachel was here. She'd arrived at last. He'd wanted to go in his limo and collect her from her apartment, but she'd insisted on making her own way to his apartment. Again. That was so like the woman he'd come to know these past two weeks. It made him smile as he checked himself in the hallway mirror. What was it about Rachel that made him so eager to make a good impression?

He heard the sounds from the kitchen of dinner being prepared. He'd hired one of the best chefs in London. The chef and his assistant had been in the large kitchen for an hour preparing, what Zarif assumed would be, an incredible meal for himself and Rachel. After the meal had been completed, then he would have a chance to be alone with Rachel. And that was what he had really been looking forward to all day.

He opened the door and looked out into the hall, suppressing a gasp. For a moment, he was lost for words. She looked amazing.

Rachel wore an elegant navy blue dress and matching low-heeled shoes. But, what really seized his attention, made his heart skip a beat, was her bare shoulders and the generous hint of cleavage. Her skin looked smooth and pale, and he briefly wondered what it would feel like to the touch.

He drank in the sight of her, savoring the slightly nervous expression on her features. She looked back at him, and a sudden awkwardness seemed to seize her. Rachel shifted on her heels, her hips twisting slightly, as if offering him a chance to admire her. He wondered if she was conscious of the effect it was having on him. It was a modest, yet charming gesture, totally in keeping with her personality. She smiled at Zarif. "Good evening," she said, her voice bright.

Zarif leaned a hand against the door frame. "Well, aren't you something," he replied.

He saw her face flush and her gaze drop down to take in the dress. "You like it?" she asked.

Zarif shook his head and for a moment her brows furrowed. He smiled. "You look beautiful, Rachel. Absolutely amazing."

Rachel smiled broadly. Her red lips just called out to him, tempting him to lean in closer and kiss her even before she entered his domain.

Instead, he placed a hand gently on her bare shoulder and they exchanged a brief, polite air kiss.

Zarif gestured for Rachel to enter the apartment. As she walked past him, he caught her scent, a mixture of flowers and sweetness, which made his nostrils flare and caused him to draw in a deep breath.

He walked behind her, unable to resist the impulse to watch her hips shimmy beneath the fabric of the dress. The shape of her long back suddenly captivated him with its easy, swaying movement. He caught a glimpse of her spine and let his gaze drop to her legs, taking in the delicious sight of her calves.

Noise from the kitchen made Rachel turn quickly to him, a puzzled expression on her face.

"The chef's almost finished preparing our meal," he explained.

"Chef?" she asked wide-eyed.

Zarif nodded. "You don't expect a sheikh to know how to cook, do you?" he asked and grinned broadly.

Rachel quirked a brow at him. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Zarif told her the name of the chef and her brows rose in obvious shock. "Him? But, he's one of the most famous chefs in London."

Zarif shrugged. "Only the best," he declared.

She nodded and sighed, obviously impressed and probably more than a bit nervous at the prospect of sampling the delights the chef had already described to Zarif.

Zarif followed her into the sitting room. He offered her a glass of wine and gave her a quick tour of his apartment. He could tell she was impressed. Zarif had to admit it had been a good decision to use this place as his base. It was his favorite amongst the many properties he owned.
 

It had a modern, elegant quality which he enjoyed. Every room had been designed with an almost masculine sharpness, with minimalist furnishings, plain colors. Everything any self-respecting sheikh would want in a bachelor pad. Because, that was what it looked like as he took Rachel from room to room, he realized. A perfect place for a single man. That was what he was now. An unattached sheikh with no prospects of marriage. Wasn't he?

Zarif diplomatically avoided showing Rachel his bedroom. As they passed the closed door in the hallway, she glanced at him, as if expecting him to open the door. She seemed surprised when he didn't, and he hurriedly moved her back to the sitting room.

The chatted a while, as they had done on so many occasions these past two weeks. They'd gone past the point of awkward discovery, moved beyond the bland politeness of social chat. Now they were able to share their opinions of things more intimately, more honestly.
 

Zarif had come to value their discussions, and he couldn't help feeling that their sharing had reached a deeper level, something way beyond a mere professional sociability.
 

But, still, he hadn't told her everything about him. Especially about Alana, about his recent disastrous attempt at a relationship. He felt there was nothing to be gained by telling Rachel about that. There might come a time when it would be okay to talk about such things.
 

The truth was, Rachel herself had proven reluctant to open up about her own past relationship. Brief comments had led Zarif to conclude that there hadn't been that many men in Rachel's life. Especially recently.
 

She'd constantly talked about how she'd decided that her career was the only thing that mattered; that people just had to realize they would have to take a back seat in her life. He took that as code for Rachel having no time for lovers.
 

Having had time to assess Rachel more closely, Zarif had begun to nurture the suspicion that Rachel hadn't had much experience with men, at all. The more he'd thought of it, the more it had begun to make sense. It went a long way to explaining the innocent, untouched quality he enjoyed so much. There was something unspoiled about this young woman who had dug deep into his soul in such a short time. She possessed a quality of simplicity and directness which he enjoyed being around.

The chef completed his preparations and announced that the meal was ready to be served. Zarif helped Rachel take her seat. Standing behind her chair as she settled down into it, Zarif gazed down at her upturned face. Her exquisite heart-shaped features were framed by the elegant tumble of her perfectly coiffured blonde hair. The bare flesh of her shoulders once again made something firm within him, caused a hardness to take possession of him in that brief moment.

Rachel smiled up at him and then turned as the chef's assistant appeared wheeling a small trolley upon which was placed a large silver serving trays and dishes.
 

Over the next hour, they were served a delicious, even exquisite meal that exceeded Zarif's expectations. It was infinitely superior to the meal they had shared at the private club. But then, Zarif wouldn't have expected anything less.
 

More importantly, Zarif took delight in Rachel's reactions to the meal. The idea of being served an exclusive meal by one of the finest chefs in the world might have impressed some women, but Rachel seemed completely unfazed by the whole affair.
 

She obviously enjoyed the food, but she didn't do what Zarif might have expected someone like Alana to do. Rachel didn't put on any airs or graces when it came to pretending to enjoy the sumptuous, expertly crafted meal. In fact, at one point, and much to Zarif's delight, Rachel leaned forward and lowered her voice, whispering to Zarif that she thought the lamb on her plate was slightly overcooked.

Zarif tried to contain his laughter but completely failed to do so. He guffawed so loudly that Rachel scowled at him with barely hidden good-humor. From that moment, for the rest of the meal, they shared their secret disappointments with the food, doing their best to hide their opinions from the scrutiny of the chef. By the end of the meal, the shared moments of conspiracy had brought them even closer together.
 

The chef and his assistant left soon after the meal. Zarif and Rachel went out onto the balcony and sat down side by side on the comfortable sofa. The view across the London rooftops was spectacular, another reason why Zarif liked this apartment so much. In the distance, he could see illuminated the tall, wheel-like structure of the London Eye and the iconic clock of Big Ben. Darkness had fallen, but the night air was still warm enough that they could sit outside. From below, the sound of traffic was a distant, steady murmur.

Zarif glanced at Rachel. "Did you enjoy the meal?"

Rachel smiled. "It was delicious, thank you."

"Really?" he asked quirking a brow at her.

"Apart from the things we couldn't help laughing at," she said with a conspiratorial grin.

"Ah, those," he said nodding slowly.

"Other than that, I was pretty impressed with the whole thing," she admitted.

"I'm glad."

Zarif placed an arm along the length of the back of the sofa and watched her reaction. Her gaze followed the movement, but he was pleased that the gesture didn't cause her to react in a way that would hint at discouragement.

They didn't say anything to each other for a few minutes, both content to gaze out at the city before them, taking in the beauty of the place. From time to time he glanced at Rachel. Her features maintained a satisfied, appreciative look, as she took in the sight bof the city lights. She was enjoying being here almost as much as he was, he told himself. The whole evening had gone better than he could ever have hoped.

A peace settled upon Zarif, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a very long time while in the company of a woman. He felt no pressure to be something he wasn't; he sensed no urgent need to impress or dominate; there was no compulsion to put on an act just to show off. Rachel had not encouraged him to be anything other than himself.
 

It wasn't the first time in the last two weeks when he'd felt that she just accepted him for who he really was. And that was something new for Zarif. For years, Zarif had been surrounded by people who had demanded things of him, forcing him to play a role that, at times, he didn't feel entirely comfortable with.

No.

Right here, sitting by the side of this surprising, astonishing woman, Zarif felt something utterly new. A sense of complete acceptance of who he was. How was it that she was able to make him feel like this? What magic spell had she cast on him? Or was it simply that she was someone utterly unique, a woman unlike any he had ever met?

Zarif drew in a deep breath and shifted around to face Rachel. He saw her eyes narrow slightly, and a hesitant smile crease the corner of her tempting mouth.

Zarif leaned in closer, and he saw her gaze soften as if she had already decided that she wanted him to kiss her. And, when his head dipped, and he claimed her lips, he heard her gasp slightly, felt her breath against his mouth. He reached up and rested his fingers on her delicate jaw, savoring the softness of her skin. It felt like silk beneath his rough fingertips. Her lips tasted sweet, and her breath was suddenly quick. He felt his nerves ignite as the sensations of the kiss took hold of him.

Zarif eased forward, feeling his body against hers, sensing Rachel's heat. His thighs pressed against hers, and he felt the way she reacted, her muscles tightening at his contact.

His tongue probed the moistness of her mouth and once again he felt her shift against him, need increasing. His own desire had flamed into life, and he realized that this was the only place he wanted to be. Being with Rachel was the only place he had wanted to be these past two weeks. Day and night, he had tormented himself with frustrated need, and now she was pressed against him, and he knew that her desire matched his own with equal measure.

Zarif ran his hand down her neck, tracing a path to her breasts. He felt her nipples, pebbled into hardness beneath the fabric. At his touch, she gasped, trying to utter his name, but failing.